


Not Jealous

by sb_essebi



Series: Whouffaldi one-shots [10]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 12 is clueless, F/M, First Time, Porn, Semi-Public Sex, clara has /emotions/, possessive!Clara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2019-02-01 08:56:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12701574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sb_essebi/pseuds/sb_essebi
Summary: Prompt by DarkestAngel11: Could you maybe write a smutty chapter where Clara gets jealous over another woman fawning over the Doctor?





	Not Jealous

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DarkestAngel11](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=DarkestAngel11).



Clara Oswald had always thought she could handle everything. Everything. She had later decided that no, she couldn't. She couldn't, for example, handle her relationship with the Doctor and her relationship with Danny at the same time. On the one hand, Danny was the perfect boyfriend, loving and protective, and she didn't want to give him up; on the other hand, the Doctor was extraordinary and brilliant and she was addicted to him and everything he represented: time, space, adventure. And she simply  _couldn't_  give him up. 

Otherwise she wouldn't be here with him now, at some 35th century high-class party on the Moon, wearing a short dress just a little too sexy and drinking her third glass of champagne –maybe to find the strength to stop her thoughts about how handsome the Doctor looked in that elegant black suit or maybe to find the courage to act on them. Either way, Clara felt that the alcohol was starting to have some effect: complicated as her love life was turning out to be, she was beginning to care a lot less as time went by. Until, of course, coming back to the Doctor with her glass refilled, she saw him talking to another woman. A woman in her forties -or fifties maybe- but extremely attractive and sophisticatedly dressed, with a lot of showy golden jewellery and too much make up for Clara's liking.

"I travel, mostly," the Doctor was saying, "all the time, actually."

The Time Lord didn't seem particularly interested in the woman –Clara was aware that he found most humans boring these days anyway- but the same couldn't be said about the woman, as far as Clara could tell. Suddenly she felt her blood boil with irritation.

"Oh, that's  _so fascinating_ ," the woman claimed, stepping a little closer to the Doctor and dramatically running one hand through her long, dark blond curls, "Doctor-"

"McCrimmon. Doctor James McCrimmon," the Doctor affirmed, with a little smirk that Clara hoped was for the name of his old companion and not directed to the woman or-

' _Or_   _I swear to God I'll smite him'_  Clara thought.

"A Scottish name, isn't it?  _Naturally_ , I had noticed your  _exquisite_  accent, my dear Doct- James?  _I'm sure_  you don't mind if I call you James," the woman continued with adulating voice, touching lightly the Doctor's arm –he frowned at the contact- and smiling outright flirtatiously, " _James_ , you're Doctor of what exactly?"

"Bit of everything," he muttered, staring uneasily at the woman's hand, which was holding his wrist firmly now.

"Obviously, obviously! I could  _immediately_  tell you were a man of letters,  _James_ , and  _oh,_  I do  _love_  a  _learned_  man," the woman exclaimed, her tone so disgustingly mellifluous that Clara though she was going to feel sick. She rolled her eyes, on the brink of losing her composure. " _Oh_! I'm  _so_  sorry!" Clara heard the woman say: the blonde had just spilled half of her drink over the Doctor's shirt – _totally_  on purpose, Clara had absolutely no doubt- and was now trying to  _clean_  him –an excuse for getting her hands  _literally all over him_.

At that point, Clara completely lost it. She didn't stay to see the Doctor's reaction to the woman's manoeuvres. Clara practically slammed her glass in the hands of the closest waiter and headed to the restroom. Her control freak side wasn't going to let her violently murder the woman in front of dozens of people –which was what she felt the maddening need to do right now- nor was it going to let her put on a jealousy scene in front of said dozens of people. Not that she was jealous. No. Absolutely not jealous.

"I'm  _not_  jealous.  _I'm not_ ," she half-barked to her reflection in the restroom mirror.

She was just so… angry. She wanted to strangle that woman with her bare hands. She also wanted to kiss the Doctor in front of everybody, mark him, brand him, write her name all over his body for everyone to see- yes, drinking had been a mistake. She wasn't drunk, not even remotely, but she had drunk enough to make every emotion ten times more intense. Clara had always been a somewhat jealous person, but never like this. What was the point in lying? The only thing she could think about now was that the Doctor was  _hers_ , and the thought of another woman flirting that way with him drove her absolutely insane.

She felt a single tear roll down her cheek as she breathed heavily in front of the mirror. She wiped it and sniffed.

"Get a grip, Clara," she told to her reflection. In that moment, the door opened.

"Clara? I couldn't find you-" the Doctor started.

"This is the ladies!" Clara interrupted, "You can't come in!" He looked back at the door, as if realizing only now. "Get out!" she hissed.

"You were gone for- are you okay? Is that…did you cry?"

"No!" she snapped, "I just- leave me alone!" She turned her back at him.

"Clara. What's wrong?" he asked.

Clara vaguely noticed that he sounded sincerely worried. Then, a cool hand came on her shoulder and she turned to face the Doctor again. He was close, really close, and he had bent down and forward a little to better look into her eyes. She gasped lightly as their noses touched, and so did he, but neither of them moved. Suddenly both the air around them and half of her body seemed to fill with tension. Clara almost didn't notice that she was holding her breath, and her eyes darted to the Doctor's lips for a second. She couldn't tell if the little champagne she had taken was making her bolder, if it was the jealousy or just months of suppressed feelings, but a moment later she was kissing him, and not so gently either.

Clara was surprised when the Doctor didn't pull back, responding to her kiss with a soft moan instead and letting her slip her tongue past his parted lips. He smelled of some perfume that wasn't hers and that wasn't his aftershave either: she kissed him roughly, possessively. She had never understood why some people needed to physically claim someone else, mark someone as theirs. Not until now. Now, she wanted to do exactly that.

He kissed her a lot more passionately than she might have ever dreamed, timidly cupping her face with his hands, his skin cool against hers in a curiously pleasant way as her hands tangled in his hair- God, she had dreamed to do that.

Clara broke the kiss to gasp for air, but her hands remained on his face while his fingers travelled hesitantly down her arms and to her waist. She could see his eyes dart to her mouth now and then, but mostly she could practically  _feel_  one hundred unanswered questions just waiting there, on the tip of his tongue, as if he had yet to choose which one to voice first. And she was quite sure she didn't have answers for most of them, so she did the only thing that seemed to make sense in that moment: kissing him again to prevent him from talking.

This time he did try to protest, but his body seemed to act on his own for a little while, almost by instinct, before he could manage to break the kiss.

"Clara," he murmured.

"Shh. Please. Shut up," she pleaded with more small kisses on his lips, trying to drag him closer by tugging at his cravat and at the lapels of his jacket. "Please. Don't talk."

"I- I can't."

"Of course you can."

Clara ran her hands on his back, tracing the curve of his spine and of his buttocks. The Doctor shuddered under her touch, his eyes drifting close and his mouth opening with a small, needy sigh. She kissed him again hungrily and he let her, let her push him against the entrance door of the restroom and press her body against his, heat suddenly burning her cheeks and warming up her body from the inside.

"I want you," she stated.

She wanted him, now, even though she knew it was wrong for it to be like this, so possessive and jealous, and she felt somehow guilty about it, because she did love him, very much so, but the way she wanted him now had little to do with love and a lot to do with wanting him to be hers just because she couldn't bear him to be anyone else's.

The Doctor reversed their positions, trapping her between the wall and his lean body, bringing her legs to wrap around his hips and their eyes at the same level. Her shoes fell on the floor. He initiated the kiss this time, forcing her to make it more gentle and slow.

"Clara. Are you drunk?" he asked, looking sternly into her eyes.

"No," she answered confidently.

His expression softened. "I believe you." He let his forehead sink forward and touch hers. Her breath caught in her throat for an instant: his eyes were of the darkest and most beautiful shade of ice-blue she had ever seen, and seemed to look straight through her. "I need to know why you're doing this."

Clara bit her lip nervously. "I love you," she said simply.

He smiled very shyly, but his eyes shone with happiness. He remained silent for a few moments before answering:

"I have waited so long for you to say it. But that's not the reason why you kissed me tonight, am I right?"

"That just… happened," she half-lied. He had the power to clear her thoughts, though; just his gaze was enough to remind her how intensely she loved him, how she had always loved him. "But it could be the reason why we… make love, tonight, if you want."

The Doctor smiled again at her boldness, then rubbed his cheek against hers affectionately and whispered in her ear:

"Oh, Clara. Clara, Clara, Clara. You know that I can't tell you no."

Clara didn't even try to hide the smile on her lips as he started to kiss and nibble at the skin between her jaw and neck, leaving small hot sparks wherever on her skin his mouth went, his hands at the back of her thighs pushing her up and closer to him. She felt as though the Doctor was finally allowing himself to let go, pressing his face against her neck and into her hair, inhaling her scent with short and sharp breaths, rocking his hips gently into hers.

"I love you," he murmured.

Clara pulled him in a searing kiss, one that had him thrust his hips forward harder, with a small needy groan. The grip of his hands on her thighs became firmer, stronger, and he slipped his fingers beneath her dress to lift it as she tugged at his jacket, trying to push it down his shoulders. The Doctor let her down on her feet to toss the jacket on the floor, but Clara didn't stop pulling him down for increasingly heated kisses, at the same time finding the key in the keyhole behind her and closing the door: she wasn't going to let anyone interrupt this.

Clara got rid of her knickers, noticing with a smirk the large wet spot at their centre, before letting the Doctor pick her up again, urgently lifting her dress to grind her aching clit against the visible bulge in his trousers.

She ran her hands through his hair as they kissed feverishly, ruffling them as much as she could, relishing the softness of his grey curls only to pull resolutely at them shortly after. He let out a small sound of both surprise and pain, and she took advantage of it to map his mouth with her tongue some more. She wanted to kiss him so thoroughly that he wouldn't want to kiss any other woman but her. The Doctor, on his part, was returning every drop of her enthusiasm, pressing the back of her head against the hard wooden door, each kiss feeling like liquid fire was pouring down her throat to set her whole body aflame. Clara could tell that the Doctor would have preferred to make it gentler, but he seemed to automatically obey to her rhythm.

The Doctor nearly lost hold of her legs when Clara swiftly sneaked one of her hands between their bodies and hurriedly undid his belt and unzipped his trousers, tugging his shirt out of them and firmly palming the fabric of his pants over his erection.

" _Clara_ ," he groaned.

His trousers pooled on the floor as she rubbed the heel of her hand up and down his length, making his breaths shaky and his groans deeper and louder. She made sure to catch with a kiss every sound he made, letting the vibrations reverberate through her and make her shiver. Clara slipped her fingers under the waistband of his pants and yanked them down. She wrapped her fingers around his cock, feeling it thick and hard, warm against her burning hot skin, and the Doctor eagerly pushed his hips into her touch.

The Doctor broke their kiss to stare intensely at her and Clara could see his eyes dark with need and his cheeks red with arousal. Seeing no trace of doubt in her gaze, he lifted her a little more, let her align their bodies and carefully sink down on him.

To Clara, the world seemed to collapse on itself to only include the Doctor and herself. She tightened the grasp of her thighs around his waist, desperately trying to drive him closer as waves of pleasure rolled down her body and broke free through her lips in a long series of short moans. Her nails dug into his shoulders, probably leaving marks even through the thick fabric of his shirt. She felt the Doctor's legs shake. He was trying to muffle a string of grunts and "Clara"s against the skin of her neck, with little success. She urged him on with a move of her hips and grabbed her thighs more firmly, starting to thrust into her following the demands of their pressing need.

Everything felt amazing to Clara, from his body inside her to his hearts wild against her chest. Especially the sound of his voice low and overcome, repeating her name over and over. That was utter perfection, it had her grin between moans and shook something inside her, a strong feel of belong but also of possession. She ripped open the first two buttons of his shirt to kiss and suck at the soft skin of his neck, leaving little purplish marks, then moving to expose his muscular shoulder to bite down on the skinny but strong muscles.

" _My_  Doctor," she growled.

He gave a sound that might have been of agreement, and quickened his pace.

Soon Clara was feeling her spine on fire and her legs trembling, and she briefly wondered how she had gotten so close in so little time. She was finding it hard to breathe, to think, she couldn't keep her eyes open. She pulled the Doctor in a heated kiss, groaning into each other's mouth until the load of pressure at her core exploded, shaking her body with long waves of breath-taking pleasure, making her inner muscles contract around the Doctor's body and pulling him over the edge with her.

The following seconds where so blissful and fogged that Clara wondered if she hadn't passed out. She could hear her blood and her heart loud in her ears. The Doctor was silent, she could feel him breathing heavily with his face buried in the crook of her neck. She forced her eyes open and kissed his cheek. He swallowed hard, and when he talked his voice was still husky.

"Clara."

"I liked that. Very much," she said, laughing softly.

"Mmh. I would say the same, but it would be an understatement."

He slid out of her and let her step on the floor, but he pulled her into his embrace and kissed her lingeringly, not willing –she guessed- to let the moment be over quite yet. Her eyes fell close again, but they popped open a second later, when she heard fumbling with the door handle and then knocking on the door.

"Hello? Why is the door close? Is this out of service? Is there someone inside?" asked a petulant voice that Clara immediately recognised as the one of the woman who had been with the Doctor earlier.

" _I can't believe it_ ," Clara exclaimed. "It's that  _bitch_  again."

"Clara!" the Doctor protested when he heard her language.

"Shush, we've got to get out of here!"

They cleaned themselves quickly and dressed again messily and rapidly.

"I can hear noises, I know there's someone in there," complained the other woman from the outside, knocking insistently.

Finally, Clara opened the door and exited, immediately followed by the Doctor. 

As the woman saw him, she let out a loud gasp that sounded absurdly comic to Clara. Clara couldn't blame her: never mind the mess Clara had made of the Doctor's hair, but his lips were swollen with kissing, he had trials of red lipstick and love bites all over his neck, his shirt was missing the top buttons and was only partially inside his trousers. Not to mention some white-ish spots very visible on the black fabric of said trousers. Basically, he screamed sex loud and clear, and Clara couldn't have been happier.

"Ja-James!" the woman babbled, completely shocked. "What where you doing in the ladies restroom?"

"He was with  _me_ ," Clara affirmed, pulling the Doctor down for a kiss that he reciprocated after a little hesitance of surprise.

The woman made some noises of scandalized indignation, then entered the restroom and slammed the door behind her. Clara giggled heartily.

"Is that what this all was about? You were jealous of me?" the Doctor questioned suddenly, somewhere between amazed and confused.

"No!" she laughed, "I'm not jea-"

A scream from the nearby room interrupted her. Again she recognised the blond woman's voice.

"What was that?" the Doctor asked.

Clara grinned, realizing what had happened. "I think I forgot my knickers on the floor," she explained, her grin wider than ever.

The Doctor rolled his eyes in mocked disapproval, grabbed her hand and ran with her to the TARDIS, both of them laughing like children.


End file.
